


The Meaning of Ink

by LyriaFrost



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen, street!Michael, which is my new favorite Michael
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyriaFrost/pseuds/LyriaFrost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the topic of tattoos is brought up among the guys, Michael becomes very closed off.  Geoff is the one who finds out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meaning of Ink

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at street!Michael AU (which has run away with my heart and my plot bunnies). I'm not entirely happy with it, but it's pretty good, so I figured why not. For more on this AU, go visit yetiokay over on tumblr.

Michael sat in the corner of the room, wrapped up in a blanket and watching TV, mostly ignoring the conversation going on around him. 

"But seriously, I can't be the only guy in this house who has tattoos or even wants to get any. How about you, Michael? Got any ink?" The man in question jumped when his name was called. 

"Ummmm... no..." 

"Shit on my dick, dude, seriously? You spent all those years on the street and didn't get any kind of ink?" Michael knew, rationally, that Geoff wasn't being mean or anything, but he found himself getting very defensive. 

"No, I didn't, now can you please shut the fuck up so I can watch my show?" The conversation was subsequently dropped, but it was easy to see that Michael was distracted for the rest of the movie. He kept staring off into space, and more than once he compulsively rubbed at a spot on his upper left arm. But it wasn't until they were all getting ready for bed that night that Geoff found out why. As usual, he had stayed to clean up the kitchen, though it was not usual for the Jersey boy to join in. While the younger man was obviously trying to be helpful, Geoff often caught him staring into space, biting his lip and rubbing his arm. Finally it was just too much. 

"Yah know, I won't bite your head off for talking." Michael jumped slightly, the words sounding very loud in the mostly empty, quiet kitchen. 

"Oh... um, sorry, I just..." 

"Hey, if you have something to say, go ahead. You know you can tell us anything." Michael looked down, fiddling with the towel he was supposed to be using to dry the dishes. 

"Well... I kinda- sorta.... lied, earlier." 

"Lied about what?" 

"Not having- having any tattoos." 

"Oh... well, why would you lie about that?" Instead of answering, Michael took a deep breathe and pulled his sleeve up, exposing his arm to the older man. Geoff had never seen him without a shirt on now, and he could see why the younger had always kept the area hidden. On his upper arm was a crudely drawn symbol, one that Geoff couldn't identify. 

"It's a- it was a gang sign. It was from my very first gang, well, the only one I was ever really initiated into. I ran with other crews for a while, after I lost my first gang, but their sign was the only one I ever carried, permanently anyway... I managed to avoid getting any other marks, whether in gangs or in prison." Geoff took a hesitant step forward, reaching out a hand to brush across the mark. Michael flinched lightly, but didn't pull away, allowing Geoff his examination. Under the bright kitchen lights, Geoff could see the marks where the needle had gone too deep, the uneven and jagged lines. 

"Michael... that looked like it must have been painful." 

"Yeah... we, uh- we had our own tattoo artist. Called him Left-hand Larry... Mostly cause the guy had lost his right hand in a gang attack. Sucked, cause he was a righty too... But even after that, he kept on being the tattoo guy cause he was cheap and kept his mouth shut about who was in the gang, which was pretty hard to find back then. Even when he only had one hand and did shitty jobs like this, he was the only one he could trust." 

"Was it- how bad was it?" 

"Not so awful for his work... I ended up with the damn thing getting infected. Dumped peroxide on it every day for two weeks... My mates said I nearly died from the fever, but I got through eventually." 

"Oh god... that's- that's..." 

"It's not a- well, it's done and over now... that was years and years ago. But... I wish they looked more like yours. I always thought that's what it'd look like, but I guess that's not what a kid from the streets like me gets to have. Always wanted a really cool tattoo, all nice colors and straight lines, one that didn't look like a three-year-old's crayon drawing." Geoff stood and studied Michael for a moment. 

"If you could have any kind of tattoo, what would it be?" The Jersey boy suddenly flushed. 

"Ummm... probably the triforce from Zelda." The older man looked very amused. 

"That's an... interesting idea." Michael suddenly tensed up. 

"Oh, fuck off, Ramsey. Don't act like that with me, Mr. High-and-mighty and 'oh what an interesting idea, it sounds like something a little fucking kid would get' and-" Geoff sighed and put his hand over the other's mouth. 

"Michael, shut up. You know I didn't mean it like that. Jesus dicks, dude, you pick the weirdest time to get defensive." Michael immediately cast his eyes to the floor, trying to seem less threatening. 

"I'm sorry, please don't kick me out, I'm trying to be better..." 

"And that's another thing we need to work on. No one is kicking you out, ever, so relax. Anyway, do you want to do something about that tattoo?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Well, I know this guy, my tattoo artist... and I think he could help you out. We might not be able to remove that mark, it looks like that guy went a little too deep in some places and left some pretty nasty scarring. But we might be able to cover it up with another design." Something in Michael's eyes lit up a little brighter. 

"Really? That would be really awesome, I get so..." Geoff could see something in the other man closing off just a little, like he was trying to reign in his excitement. "I mean, um, that's okay. I don't really have the money for something like that anyway, and you don't have to go to any trouble for me..." 

"Well, that settles it then. We'll go see him tomorrow, okay?" 

"But- um- I can't-" 

"Chill, dude, don't worry about a thing. Let's just go talk to him and see what he says, alright?" 

"O- okay." 

"Great, now let's go to bed already, it's late as dicks." The next day passed too slowly for Michael as he went to work with the other men, trying to focus on the games they were playing and the videos he was supposed to be editing. But finally it was time for them to go home, and time for Geoff and him to go to meet the guy. 

The tattoo parlor was unlike anything Michael had been expecting. Rather than a shady little back-alley place, full of dirt and rats and people who hadn't showered in years, this place was clean and neat. There was a desk at the front, and beyond that Michael could see a row of smaller rooms, each with a bench and all the necessary tools arranged neatly on a table. Everything was clean and shiny and very nice-looking. 

"This is- what kind of place is this, Geoff?" 

"It's a tattoo parlor, bud." 

"Bullshit. No tattoo place back in Jersey looks this nice." Suddenly another voice spoke up from behind Michael. 

"Well, I'm glad my humble little establishment earns a statement like that." Michael nearly spun around and punched the person, still not used to people coming p behind him and not trying to stab him or steal his wallet or some shit like that. Luckily, all the guys had come to expect that, and Geoff had smoothly moved to stand between them. 

"Markie! Long time no see." 

"Well, well, well... if it isn't Geoffrey Lazer Ramsey. Back for another tattoo? I got some free time now if you wanna work something out." 

"Actually, I'm not here for me this time." Geoff reached behind him and grabbed Michael's arm, pulling him around. 

"This is Michael. He just got in from Jersey pretty recently and he's interested in getting some work done to cover up an old tattoo he's got. Figured you'd be able to help him out with that." 

"Sure, we can take a look. Why don't you come on back to my workspace, let me have a look, and we can get started?" The three men moved back to the end of the row of workspaces, into a cubby with walls decorated with artwork, drawings of tattoos. There were many pictures of skulls decorate with flowers and patterns, complex swirls with words cleverly worked into the lines, fantasy images of dragons with flames and fairies with intricate wings. Michael took a seat on the bench, staring at all the works around him, until suddenly someone was touching his sleeve and Michael's hand snapped out, grabbing the other's wrist and twisting it around. The only thoughts in his mind were 'someone's there, someone's going to hurt me, have to stop it...' 

"Michael! Stop, you're going to hurt him." Geoff's voice snapped him out of his reverie and he quickly dropped the wrist he had been grinding in his hand. 

"Ow, well, duly noted. No touching without plenty of warning." 

"You alright, Markie?" 

"No harm done, Geoff." Michael stared at the ground sheepishly. 

"I'm sorry, I just don't do well with people touching me." 

"Not a problem, I should have warned you anyway. Now then, do you want to show me the tattoo we're going to be working with here?" Michael slowly rolled up his sleeve, revealing the crude tattoo. "Well, that's not a marking I've seen around these parts before." 

"I got it in New Jersey." 

"That would be why. Some parts of this are dangerously deep, was it a professional that did this work?" 

"Not really... just some back-alley guy my group knew." Geoff noticed that Michael was deliberately dimming down the story. It was a habit the younger man had when talking to others, trying to avoid talking about his days on the streets in Jersey. 

"Hmmm... well, some of these lines are quite worrisome, I would not want to put ink overtop of them due to the scarring. But I think we could work it into an image, depending on what you want to do. Do you have an idea for something you want to cover it with?" The rest of the afternoon was spent in discussing Michael's plans, and since Markie had no customers for the evening, they just went ahead and did the coverup right there. Future appointments were scheduled to color in the picture, but it wasn't long before Geoff and Michael were leaving, one with a brand new triforce tattoo on his upper arm. 

"Geoff! That really wasn't necessary, I can pay for my own tattoo..." 

"Michael, just think of it as a gift. Besides, I have plenty of money saved up and nothing to do with it. But any future tattoos you want, you will be paying for. However, in return for me paying for your ink, there is one thing you could do." 

"I swear to God, if you try to ask for something weird..." 

"Jesus dicks, dude, who do you think I am? Nah, I just want to know why you chose a triforce. I mean, not that it's bad, but there are so many tattoos and- dicks, Michael, are you blushing?" 

"Shut up, fucker! I am not... I just... those are special games to me, alright? I can remember playing the games, back when I was a kid, before I ended up on the streets. And sometimes I would go to Gamestop and they'd have the game up on one of those 'try it before you buy it' screens and I'd play it there. And... well, it was the game in that old DS that Ray gave me..." Geoff smiled, pulling Michael into a one-armed hug as they walked to the car. 

"Who knew tough old, street guy Michael had a soft spot?" 

"Geoffrey..." 

"Cool it, I'm teasing... they're all good reasons... someday we'll sit down, and I'll tell you why I got each and every one of my inks. It's good to have a story behind them, something to make them everlasting." Michael climbed into the car, absently rubbing at the edges of the bandage under his shirt. He had seen the tattoo, once the artist was done, and there was distinguishing the marks that had once been there. The lines were obliterated, seamlessly integrated into his new design. 

If Michael had been a particularly sappy person, prone to thinking deep and philosophical things, he would have thought that it was a perfect metaphor for his life. Destroying every trace of his past life, fitting it all into the new life that he had found to create something wonderful and everlasting. But, of course, Michael would never admit to having thoughts like that.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/criticisms/anything you want to say is much appreciated!


End file.
